


Butterflies

by imherongraystairstrash



Category: The Infernal Devices Series - Cassandra Clare, The Last Hours Series - Cassandra Clare, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types
Genre: Family Feels, Family Fluff, Grief/Mourning, Other, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 22:40:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29196984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imherongraystairstrash/pseuds/imherongraystairstrash
Summary: Thomas Lightwood grieving the loss of his sister with Cecily
Relationships: Cecily Herondale/Gabriel Lightwood, Cecily lightwood & Thomas lightwood
Comments: 7
Kudos: 19





	Butterflies

**Author's Note:**

> I started and finished this fic in one day, due to recent events in my life, so it may not be a masterpiece, but I write it because I think we need to talk more about grief sometimes. I’ve never lost a sister, but I feel Thomas’ loss is extremely glossed over in Chog. So I wrote this as a way of bringing awareness to the death of loved ones, especially during this pandemic. Stay safe, lovelies <3

Thomas was reading in the parlor with the other Lightwoods. Christopher was writing something—most likely some notes on the side-effects of his antidote— Gabriel was sitting with Alex, and Cecily was at a desk, going through some correspondence. Thomas’ gaze drifted from Cecily’s pen to the window beside her. He stared at it and saw a butterfly pass by. His heart seized and he dropped his book with a loud thud. The Lightwoods quickly turned their heads towards him. Thomas quickly peeled his eyes from the window. 

“Is everything alright, Thomas?” Gabriel asked, concerned.

“Yes yes, all is well. I just—I need to fetch something I left upstairs. I shall return shortly.”

Thomas bolted to his feet and left the room before anybody could say anything.

He took the stairs two at a time, as he always did, only now he was praying he wouldn’t trip over his long limbs. He would just go upstairs, get a hold of himself and come back down. Nobody needed to know about the butterfly. They won’t ask either, if he doesn’t give them reason to.

He finally reached Christopher’s room and yanked the door open. He stumbled inside and closed it behind him, before pacing the length of the room.

It’s just a butterfly, he told himself. Just because Barbara was terrified of them—

Thomas slumped down on Kit’s bed. He looked up, hoping the tears would leave before they started. It was so difficult, though, because now memories of Barbara and butterflies were playing in his mind. He could almost hear her shrieking. She couldn’t be dead. She couldn’t truly be gone, could she?

He heard a light knock at the door. Cecily came in and he gave her a tight smile before looking down at his hands. 

Thomas tried to meet Cecily’s eye as she sat down beside him on the bed, but failed. Instead, he kept looking at his hands fighting the tears that threatened to spill over. 

“Thomas _bach_ ,” she said.

__

__

The same way Christopher was like his brother, Aunt Cecily had always felt like a second mother to Thomas. She used the same sort of endearments on him as she did with her own children. Thomas had partly learned Welsh for her. He still remembered her look of shock when he spoke to Cecily in her maternal language. The way she smiled and embraced him and told him how he had the purest heart she had ever encountered as she wiped away a single tear. She was far more his aunt than Tatiana was.

Now she sat beside him, in his state of…confusion. He ought it to her to look at her face. The second he did so, however, he blinked and the tears that had welled up spilled down his face. He swiftly wiped them away, but Cecily had already seen. 

“Oh, Thomas darling,” she embraced him like he was a child. He seemed to have lost his composure in her arms. 

“She’s gone.” He hiccuped. “She’s dead, Aunt Cecy, and I’ll never see her again.”

Cecily hugged him tighter, holding him together as he was falling apart. “I know, _bach._ I know.”

Thomas didn’t want to cry too much. Cecily had other things to do. He sniffed and tried to pull away. His aunt only shook her head. 

“Make it _hurt._ ” she whispered in his ear. “Think about everything you’ve ever loved about her. Cry until you’re dry, Thomas, and then cry some more.” 

Thomas felt his bottom lip quiver and he shook his head. He didn’t want to cry. Cecily probably didn’t want to have to hold him while he did so. 

“Thomas.” She spoke sternly. “You _must_ cry. You must let yourself grieve. Please, _bach,_ if not for yourself, do it for me. Tear yourself apart, so that you can begin to put yourself back together again.”

She swept him into a tighter hug, and the barrier Thomas had built, collapsed. He gave a pathetic whimper, and then he tears began to fall down his face and onto Cecily’s shoulder.

Thomas buried his face on his aunt’s shoulder, his second mother, and cried and cried. He choked on his tears, sobs escaped from his throat. He didn’t wail—Thomas had never been a loud crier— but his body seized and contracted, and he took uneasy and harsh breaths. His tears were hot on his face, his throat hurt from crying but he couldn’t fathom stopping, because grief continued to hit him, wave after wave. He was angry, he was confused, but most of all, he was sad. He was so very sad. He was not devastated, nor in distress nor any of those fancy words that tried to explain what he was feeling. No. Thomas was feeling raw and hurt, not feeling some dressed up version of sadness, but sadness itself. 

Cecily was crying with him, though whether she was crying over Barbara or if this was causing her to remember her own dead sister, Thomas didn’t feel it mattered. Grief doesn’t need to be about the same person, so long as you could grieve with somebody.

They might have cried together for hours. Cecily had stopped before Thomas had, but for the first time, he didn’t feel the need to make haste and dry his tears. His tears continued until he had lost his voice and they were falling down his face silently. At some point, he and Cecily must have moved so that they were looking out of the window, Thomas’ head was still on her shoulder, but he couldn’t remember when.

Thomas looked out the window, and watched the world go by, as though everything was perfectly fine. For the first time in the history of the world, the sun was out in London. The sun was out and it was as though Barbara had never died. She would have liked the sun, would have come up with an excuse to drag him outside and go to the park with her. Then, he’d acquiesce and follow her around the park, lost in his own thoughts. She would have loved today so much— Thomas choked. 

Cecily put a hand on his upper back. “This pain, it will never go away. Thomas, grief is not a battle, it’s a constant war. There is never going to be a time when something doesn’t remind you of her, and that’s alright. This may be the first time you grieve this way, but it will not be the last. Just make sure you never bottle up your emotions, because there comes a time when it will be too much to hold, and you explode.” 

He looked at Cecily, but she was blurry and wobbly, like she was underwater. He blinked, and she looked normal again, before water began building up in his eyes again. Tears must have fallen from his eyes, but he seemed to have cried so much that couldn’t feel them anymore.

“I don’t know what to do.” he said, finally.

“Sometimes, there’s nothing you can do but grieve.”

Thomas bit his lip and went back to looking out the window. Only then did he realize that for the first time since her passing, he hadn’t thought that Barbara was going to come bursting through the door and drag him away for a walk. For the first time, it seemed as though he had come to terms with the fact that Barbara was truly dead. 

That thought made him close his eyes tight and his stomach palpitated. He focused on Aunt Cecy’s breathing and made himself do the same. Eventually, it would be alright.

“Thank you, Aunt, for using up your time, to help me.”

“Don’t thank me, Thomas. You’re timeless. If you need it, I will stay with you for hours.” She turned to him and smiled a bittersweet smile. “I love you children so much,” Cecily said, combing his hair to the side. “I wish I could shield you from all of the pain the world has to offer.”

“Even if you can’t,” Thomas said, “you helped make it a bit less unbearable.”

Cecily gave a single, soundless laugh through her nose and when she spoke, Thomas could hear her smile in her voice. “I’m so happy for it, _bach._ ” 

They stared out the window again, mindlessly watching as nothing happened outside, save a couple of squirrels scurrying up trees. Thomas liked nothings, for they cleared his mind. In his head, he thought of a melancholy melody. He closed his eyes and let it wash over him. When he opened them again, he saw a butterfly flapping its wings precariously, and smiled.


End file.
